


Blame it on the weather

by bi_demon_writing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Holding Hands, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Pining, They/Them Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_demon_writing/pseuds/bi_demon_writing
Summary: One day Aziraphale calls Crowley up to visit a flea market. There are presents exchanged, hands held and books bought. The demon let's themselves wonder about what it all means.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 13





	Blame it on the weather

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this wonderful series. I love them both lots and lots so I wrote this. This is able to work as a standalone fic but I might write more. My friend Lauren betaed this ♡

The London weather can be against all stereotypes, in fact, pleasant. The temperatures even climb up to over 30 degrees Celsius in summer. To the demon Crowley, this is plain lovely. Lazing around in the sun on the roof all day is, after all, one of their favourite pasttimes during this season. They survived the cold and rainy days only by staying inside (preferably at Aziraphale’s place, because it was cosier) or by watching humans who choose the wrong outfit suffer as well.

On this hot July day, their best friend called them up and to their dismay suggested going out. You see usually Crowley is all for going out. Be it walks or picnics in a park, seeing a movie or play, brunch, lunch, or dinner (Crowley didn’t do breakfast, too early) they are game if it meant spending time in the angel's company. But today their friend wanted to go to a flea market. 

And since a friend of a friend isn’t automatically your friend Crowley does not like flea markets. They can do well without all the garbage and knick-knack found there just to possibly find a treasure (which might be just more garbage and fake). They can do without all the dirt and dust and they can do without the crowds. Oh Satan the crowds, too loud, too many people, and - most repulsive of all - too sweaty in this heat. They’d rather watch that heap of discomfort from a safe distance.

The only reason they are in the crowd now is that after Aziraphale asked kindly multiple times, offered to make it up to them. They promised an evening at the bookshop with good wine and Crowley will get to choose the music. Crowley tells themselves that this promise alone makes the situation endurable. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the guilty pleasure of seeing their friend excited, happy, and content. Aziraphale is especially excited because they got a tip that they might find a new book here. The first edition of something from someone Crowley doesn’t know. They did say something about old poetry. 

Another factor that makes their outing more appealing to Crowley is that time and again the two of them touch. One arm grazing the other as they walk, hands and fingers too sometimes. Every time it happens feels like electricity entering Crowley’s body, running through them and finding no exit. It builds up. It’s torture but they can’t get enough. It must be enough; they don’t dare ask for more.

“Angel didn’t you say you wanted to buy a single specific book?”, Crowley reminds them. Aziraphale is currently caught up in conversation with a young person sporting curly orange dyed hair and a green shirt. From what it looks like, they’re selling all sorts of trinkets, but mostly jewellery. Crowley doesn’t understand why Aziraphale would be interested in that. They’re getting more bored by each passing minute. Then Crowley spots something in one of Aziraphale’s soft hands. Something silver that reflects the light when the angel turns to show it to them. “I was just chatting dear, look what I got!”

What they got was a silver ring in the form of a snake; worn it would wind around the finger three times, the head resting short under the first joint. Crowley stares at it from behind their sunglasses.

“It belonged to their grandmother once,” Aziraphale continues.  
“Grandmother”, the demon nods.  
The Angel carries on excitedly, “The sale is to help pay college, isn’t this nice!”  
“Nice, yes”, Crowley repeats in a daze, not quite listening.  
“Oh, you think so?”, Aziraphale beams at them and Crowley can feel a bolt of electricity start somewhere under their ribcage.  
“Told you your partner would like it”, the seller chirps winking at them.

Crowley's brain suddenly decides to blank. They’re simply able to look as Aziraphale takes their slender hand with black nail polish into their own splendidly manicured ones. They continue to stare as the angel slips the ring onto their finger and holds Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale is captivated by the picture in front of their eyes, turning Crowley's hand in theirs, watching how the ring reflects the light and looking delighted.

“Do you like it dear?”, Aziraphale asks.  
Crowley still can’t even form a single thought, let alone several words - because Aziraphale is still holding their hand. They want to pass out because it’s all too much, but the thought of doing that isnembarrassing enough to stop them. Instead, they nod.  
“It’s …”, they’re still searching for words, “pretty.”  
How lame they curse themselves and consider passing out again. Aziraphale drops their hand and Crowley knows how to breathe again. While the angel pays, they wonder how they got so lucky.

They continue their trip afterwards, looking for the booth of Aziraphale’s contact. Crowley purposefully walks into sections of the market that are more crowded. Somehow, they end up holding hands again. They feel braver now, the moment of panic from before forgotten. After all, they have done this before, and it is very comfortable and reassuring.  
Aziraphale doesn’t mind of course. Always showing their agreement in smiles and by squeezing Crowley’s hand when their fingers are intertwined. They can feel the sun-warmed metal of Aziraphale’s signet ring on their skin and the silver ring on their own hand as well. It’s cool and the scales of the design make it a bit rough. The angel brushes over it with one of their fingers, drawing Crowley’s attention to it. Crowley stops walking then and looks at their joined hands and lets themselves wonder. This is a rare occasion because wonder in Crowley’s case leads to overthinking, which in turn makes them panic and they end up acting foolish. But not today, it seems. They wonder what it all means, wonder why it makes their heart feel so full it hurts a little. Up until Amargeddon’t the two of them never really touched, did they? There were quick brushes, of course, can’t avoid those. And even back then, Crowley admits to themselves now, they did it on purpose. They know that the angel is their best friend in the whole world. Their favourite being in all of creation. Knows that they love Aziraphale in so many ways that matter. They try not to be hypocritical about the ordeal. They wonder what the increased touches mean. If Aziraphale has any idea what they’re doing to him. If it’s on purpose. Or if they’re just getting their hopes up for no reason. Wonders what heaven and hell would do if they found out about how they feel.

Aziraphale follows their line of sight and when their eyes meet, the angel senses a spark of fear from their friend, understanding without any words needed at all. They squeeze their hand like before signalling that, right here, right now, they are okay and safe. They smile at the demon, their heart heavy, weighed down by all the things left unsaid between the two. They smile back and if there’s a hint of sadness in it Crowley keeps quiet.

They spot Aziraphale’s contact eventually. The angel as they are is immediately caught up in conversation and Crowley tunes it out. Instead, they look around. Let their eyes drift over the crowd, stretches their senses but doesn't find any trace of demonic nor angelic energy around them. Crowley looks at Aziraphale’s profile, talking and discussing expertly and excited. This can take a while, so they decide to wander around for a bit, not far though. But they ought to let the angel know and lean up to their ear over their shoulder. “Be right back”, they say low. They’re not sure if Aziraphale’s breath just caught or they imagined it but leaves it be when they get a shaky “Alright, have fun my dear”, as a response.

  
They avoid body contact with as many people as they can. Walking through the small sea of people they end up at another booth selling books. Mostly fictional ranging from young adult romances to stuff about spaceships or magic. Judging by the person selling them the collections once belonged to their child or children. And there are some old schoolbooks as well. Nothing of interest to Crowley, nothing they don’t already know really. But then something catches their attention. A poetry book that looks so out of place next to the doorstopper calling themselves novels. It’s so much smaller and thinner and the cover is pretty. Crowley is drawn to it and takes it in hand. Flowers are covering the front and back. They look inside and are delighted by the little illustrations going with the poems. Of course, as humans’ choices of topics go, it’s love poems. Twee writing about lovers and nature. But in between are some that make your heart ache in sympathy and with longing. They’re utterly beautiful. For a moment they think about excuses why they are holding it in the first place. A demon with a book like this, that’s just ridiculous and offensive. Crowley stops then, reminds themselves to breathe and that that part of their life is over. That they don’t have to pretend and to hide. Don’t have to live up to unrealistic expectations of hell and perform. Crowley was always aware that they aren’t good at being a demon, got told often enough that they’re soft. They knew that they didn’t belong and somehow it hurt more than being cast out by heaven. But they have somewhere they belong; Crowley is reminded when they search the crowd to catch sight of their best friend. They belong with the earth and with Aziraphale, they learned that truth long ago. They turn the book in their hands and decide to buy it. The former angel already gave them a present today, only right to give something back. 

On their way back over they notice someone being rude to a teenager selling old toys. With a quick demonic miracle, they make sure that they’ll get chocolate ice cream on their expensive-looking shirt later, and the stains won’t come out.

“Are you quite done here angel?”, they ask back at Aziraphale’s side, the book safely wrapped and put in a pretty paper bag they got from the seller. Aziraphale, on the other hand, has a big and seemingly old book in their arms when they turn around to the demon after bidding farewell to their contact. They smile at Crowley who in turn melts just a little more. Then the angel notices that Crowley is carrying something as well. 

“And what have you got there, if I may ask?”, they inquire.  
“You may”. Crowley grins at them and raise their eyebrows and in delight when Aziraphale gapes at them offended.  
“It’s a surprise angel,” they look over their sunglasses and wink at their best friend, “so no peeking.”  
“A surprise, really?”, they ask in a tone Crowley identifies as repressed curiosity.  
“Yes really”, they mimic and Aziraphale tuts.  
“Very well then.”

They link arms with Crowley and together they make their way out of the fair and back to the bookshop.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this silly little thing, leave a kudo and comment if you did :) thank you for reading ☆


End file.
